


The Study

by BootsnBlossoms, Kryptaria



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Based on Hannibal's study, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/pseuds/BootsnBlossoms, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kryptaria/pseuds/Kryptaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is an expert at planning first dates. When this one doesn't make it out of Q's study, he counts it as a success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Study

**Author's Note:**

> So, first there was this gif: http://kryptaria.tumblr.com/post/51817797318
> 
> And then there was 00Q porn. Our first porn-mostly-without-plot, in fact. But really, who could resist?
> 
> Thanks to stephrc79 for the super-fast beta!

Bond should have known that Q wouldn’t live in some grubby little bedsit or a flatshare with three mates just out of uni. But this... he never imagined this.

The mews house was quietly elegant, with a discreet front door tucked into the corner of a cobblestone court. The door was framed in white, with one narrow window beside it and two more above. Lights glowed in all of them, casting a warm pool of gold out into the rain.

There was no doorbell — of course not. Rather, there was a touchscreen that lit up at the brush of a finger. Bond drew breath to announce himself, but instead of Q’s voice, a computerised simulation of a woman’s voice said, “Authenticating.” Then, a heavy _thunk_ sounded in the doorframe, and the computer said, “Identity confirmed. Welcome, James.”

Bond couldn’t hide his smile. For a first date, Q certainly was optimistic, if he’d gone to the effort of adding Bond to his home’s security system. He unlatched the door and entered a small foyer with three doors and a spiral staircase leading up. Only one door was open, so Bond advanced, calling, “Q?”

“In here,” Q answered from ahead. “Sorry, I just need a few more moments.”

“Take your time,” Bond answered, slipping off his coat to drape it over one arm. Curious, he walked through the doorway and stopped, captivated by the room beyond.

It was immense, far larger than the small facade of the house had implied, with a ceiling that soared two storeys to accommodate a mezzanine lined with bookshelves above. Below, the open space was dominated by a gorgeous area rug in rich shades of scarlet, gold, and cobalt. The desk was antique wood with clean, straight lines, rather than a modern piece of glass and steel, and there wasn’t a computer in sight. In front of the desk were two casual leather chairs in green-tinged slate, curiously modern but inviting. The far side of the room had a divan; the upholstery colour matched the chairs, but was of a soft, subtle brocade. It was set before two floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into a tiny, narrow courtyard full of greenery.

Everywhere Bond looked, his eye was captured by more elegant details. The walls were done in contrasting colours — deep maroon, slate that matched the restored hardwood floor, cream brocade wallpaper. Artwork in charcoal, ink, and oils were framed and captured by tiny spotlights. Everything that Bond had imagined Q would be, in the privacy of his own home, suddenly shifted, and he struggled to reconcile this luxuriously understated elegance with the sharp, intense technophile from Q Branch.

A clatter sounded from up on the mezzanine, and Q let out a soft, annoyed curse. “I’m sorry for keeping you, but this damn thing isn’t cooperating tonight. I was sure I’d be done repairing it an hour ago. But everything seems to be fighting me this afternoon.”

Bond glanced at an age-darkened metal statue of a stag in a thick winter coat. “Take your time,” he said, crossing to the nearest chair. He draped his coat over the back and turned to look up at the mezzanine. Q was there, standing before a glass-fronted bookcase. “Need any help?”

“No, I think I’ve just about...” Q started to say, then trailed off. He picked up the tool that had dropped from his hand and crouched in front of the case. “Ah. There you are, dirty bugger,” he said softly, and leaned in, elbows moving with whatever repair he was making. After another quiet moment, he said, “Hah!” He stood and turned, grinning down at Bond. “Triumph.”

Bond smiled up at Q, thinking that Q’s at-home grin was far more engaging than his quiet, reserved expressions at the office. “Crisis averted?” he asked, leaning against the back of the chair. He unbuttoned his jacket and rested his hands to either side of his hips, knowing how the pose would draw Q’s eye, especially from above. He’d made a dinner reservation, yes, but he wouldn’t mind staying here. Perhaps he could use the rain as an excuse.

“Much to the relief of my antique books collection, yes,” Q said, still grinning, though his gaze predictably dropped downward. After a moment’s open appreciation, Q cleared his throat and turned, bending to pick up a small toolkit from where he’d left it on the floor. “Pressurised case. Gives me trouble every now and then,” he said before making his way towards the ladder.

Bond pushed away from the chair and followed, watching the way Q’s long fingers trailed over the mezzanine railing. “If you need it coaxed into submission, please let me know. I studied a bit of engineering in school.”

“Did you?” Q asked, a hint of interest in his voice as he started down the ladder. “I think I’d like to see you coax an uncooperative bit of machinery into submission sometime.” He skipped the last couple of rungs to hop to the floor and turned, smirking, only to draw back in surprise when he found Bond barely two feet away.

“Any time you’d like, Quartermaster,” he said, looking over Q’s body with interest. The dark wool trousers clung to his hips and legs, and the waistcoat gave a bit of definition to his chest and shoulders. His forearms were more muscular than Bond had expected, and he wondered what the light, soft hairs would feel like under his tongue. But he didn’t take another step — not yet. He didn’t want to spook Q into wariness. Instead, he looked up to meet Q’s eyes, thought about how to get him to take off his glasses, and said, “I’m happy to demonstrate.”

Q stayed in place for a moment, tipping his head slightly as he looked Bond over. His gaze travelled from head to waist and quickly back up again, and whatever he saw made him relax slightly. “What about the reservations?” he asked quietly, smile returning.

Accepting the silent invitation, Bond advanced another step, never looking away from Q’s eyes. “You must eat, no matter the evidence to the contrary. And I have some small talent at cooking. It doesn’t even always end in fire,” he added with a low, warm laugh, needing to see Q’s smile again.

“Engineering _and_ cooking,” Q said, smile growing as he reached out to tug lightly at Bond’s tie. “I look forward to find out what other secret talents you’ve been hiding.”

Bond closed the last few inches between them, reaching up to rest a hand on the ladder. Q had locked the wheels — of course he had, always safety-conscious — and it didn’t rock under his weight. “You’ve read my file. You know most of my secrets. The rest... those, you’ll have to earn,” he said, leaning in enough to taste Q’s soft sigh.

Q’s grip on the tie tightened, and he pulled to bring Bond close for a real kiss. He didn’t rush into it, however, but brushed his mouth lightly across Bond’s lips. “Earn it?” he asked in a low, amused voice. He brought his other hand up to the knot of the tie and started working it loose. He turned his head to brush his mouth against Bond’s cheek, then let his tongue dart out to touch Bond’s ear. “What did you have in mind?” he asked as he pulled the knot free.

“You’re the genius,” Bond countered, reaching up to catch Q’s hand. He leaned back so he could bring Q’s fingers to his lips. His fingertips tasted like dust, and Bond touched his tongue to each one in turn.

Vague thoughts of the divan or those sleek, luxurious chairs fell away as he looked at Q, slender body framed by the ladder. He’d leaned back, body held at a gentle angle by the ladder’s slope. Behind him, the deep maroon wall made his soft, dark hair and rumpled clothes stand out in contrast.

Bond moved Q’s hand down to the ladder, and as he leaned in for another kiss, he curled Q’s fingers around the wood rail. Q didn’t resist, allowing Bond to guide his hand easily. With a hum of approval, Q wrapped a leg around Bond’s and pulled him forward. “The lock is sturdy,” he assured Bond in a heated whisper when the kiss ended.

Instead of answering, Bond moved Q’s other hand to the ladder as he kissed along Q’s jaw. A hint of stubble softened the sharp line of bone. Q let his head fall back, and Bond teased soft kisses over his pulse, trapping the soft skin in his teeth. Q’s breath caught, and he shifted against the ladder, leg tightening to pull their hips close.

“Impatient,” Bond accused against Q’s skin. He got a hand between their bodies and caught the zipper pull on Q’s flies between two fingers. “Just how impatient are you?”

“Oh, fuck,” Q breathed out, pushing his hips forward. “I won’t be able to stay pinned against the ladder all night,” he hinted. “Though I suppose if anyone would know how to make it more comfortable...”

Visions of Q bound to the ladder filled Bond’s mind; convenient ties were just the start, quickly replaced by far more secure rope, in Bond’s imagination. He paused to take a steadying breath, thinking there was no way he was going to end this date with a desperate twenty-minute shag against a ladder. There was the divan, after all. The chairs. The desk — on top, against the side, and underneath, on that soft, plush carpet.

“Shh,” he breathed into Q’s ear, loving the way he shivered. One tug got the zipper moving, and Bond worked it all the way down. Underneath, his fingers felt soft cotton, body-warm, stretched taut over hard flesh. “Can you be quiet for me, Q? This is a lovely library, after all.”

Q whimpered and pushed his hips forward again into Bond’s hand. “It _is_ my library —”

“Shh,” Bond repeated, covering Q’s mouth with one hand. He pressed his thumb against Q’s top lip. “May I continue?”

Q stared at him with an intense, evaluating gaze for bare seconds before he smiled. He nodded before tipping his head back to nip at Bond’s thumb. Then he pulled it into his mouth, sucking lightly before swirling his tongue around the tip.

Bond closed his eyes, feeling the heat of Q’s mouth not just on his thumb but all the way into his arm, like curls of flame. He turned his other hand and pressed against Q’s cock with a gentle, sinuous rhythm, from fingertips to the heel of his hand. Q’s breath ghosted out over Bond’s hand as he sighed. Gently, Bond moved his thumb away, replacing it with his forefinger, and Q licked again, silently.

“Good,” Bond approved in a whisper. The library’s silence fell around them both like a blanket. Bond couldn’t hear a hint of London’s life roaring beyond the walls, and even the rain was nothing more than a gentle white noise against the tall windows nearby.

He heard, clearly, the soft rustle of hair as he parted the front of Q’s pants. His fingers found the button, allowing him to slip inside, fingertips brushing over softness and warmth as he sought out velvet-smooth skin. When Q groaned, Bond teased his fingertip over Q’s tongue, matching the movement with a press of one finger, a gentle drag up the shaft, before he eased both fingertips back.

The ladder creaked as Q’s hands tightened mercilessly on the wood, knuckles turning white with the effort of holding on. He loosened his leg from where it was wrapped around Bond, then hooked his ankle around the ladder instead. He did the same with his other ankle and spread his knees wide to better accommodate Bond’s body.

With a kiss on Q’s cheek to show his pleasure, Bond worked his hand into Q’s pants. He curled his fingers gently around Q’s cock, thumb tucked up under the glans, and slipped down, slow and careful and gentle enough that the friction was barely a whisper.

“I thought,” Bond said softly as he slid his hand back up, “that I would find you tangled in cables and computers. I never expected this” — he eased his hand down again, and Q strained to press his hips up, seeking the speed and intensity that Bond denied him — “this _beauty_.”

“I love to read,” Q said breathlessly. “I have a...” His breath caught again as Bond closed his hand a bit more tightly on the next stroke down. “Workshop. Basement. Cables there.”

“Do you come in here late at night?” Bond asked, tracing Q’s mouth with his hand. His other hand moved up, slowly, until he could sweep his fingers over the glans and back down. “Do you curl up on the divan, in a single pool of light, reading a book too fragile to be exposed to sunlight?”

Q nodded, eyes cracking back open to look up at the mezzanine. “Yes,” he nodded, swallowing. “Some are very fragile. I don’t allow many people here. To take care of them.”

Then his eyes slammed shut as Bond swiped his whole hand up over the head of his cock. Fabric strained against Bond’s fist, threads threatening to snap, but he didn’t undo Q’s belt or waistband. Q’s inhale turned into a softly broken sound. He sucked in his gut, struggling to make room. Bond took advantage, even though he knew Q made the mistake of holding position by holding his breath, and wouldn’t be able to support it for long.

“You’re not fragile,” he whispered into Q’s ear as he pushed two fingers into his mouth. Q’s cock was hot and hard against his palm. He captured a tiny drop with one fingertip and swiped it down. Hair teased at the backs of his knuckles; cotton scraped over his fingernails. “You hide in your glass office under bright lights, but underneath, this rich depth, hiding away.” He touched Q’s lips with his fingertips, studying him intently, savouring his reactions.

Q’s breath finally left him in a rush. He brought his head back up from being tipped back in pleasure to look Bond in the eye. “I’m not fragile,” he repeated in a low growl, grinning wickedly. “Feel free to test that yourself, though.”

Delighted by the challenge, Bond stroked harder, careful not to press too hard. The slide of dry skin was more a tease of Q’s nerves than a rough pressure, and Bond knew that it would spread through him like fire, sharp and bright and burning hot.

When Q’s head fell back, Bond ducked to nip once beneath his jaw. He silenced Q’s faint whimper, sliding his palm over Q’s lips, and pressed just hard enough to hold him against the ladder. Q’s whole body trembled. By the shift of his hips, Bond knew that the pleasure, so unexpected, free of the prolonged, teasing foreplay of dinner and drinks and lingering kisses, had caught him by surprise with its intensity.

Q pulled his head back from Bond’s silencing hand. “I’m not going to last if you —”

“Surrender,” Bond whispered in Q’s ear, and pressed his hand tight over Q’s mouth once more. Q’s responding groan was beautifully broken, and Bond could feel the vibration of it from where his thumb rested against Q’s jaw. Q surrendered to Bond, sinking against the ladder, head falling back even further.

When he came, he was silent, breath catching in rhythm with the cock pulsing against Bond’s hand. Clutching the ladder, Q let Bond tease out his pleasure and ease him through it. Bond moved the hand from Q’s mouth and kissed gently as his other hand went still, holding Q’s cock, feeling as Q’s whole body relaxed, going softly pliant against the ladder.

After Q caught his breath, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, lazy satisfaction keeping them heavy-lidded. “Thank you,” he said with a soft smile. He unhooked his ankles from the ladder and straightened a little, and let his head fall on Bond’s shoulder. “What can I do for you? What do you prefer?”

Bond hid a smile at how Q still held onto the ladder. With a touch to Q’s face and a kiss to distract him, he worked his hand out of Q’s trousers. “Dinner,” he said between soft, feather-light kisses. “Here or out. Then I leave it up to you, if you want to invite me back here, to your sanctuary.”

Q hummed again. “Have I earned seeing you work your secret magic in the kitchen?” he asked, turning his head to nuzzle at Bond’s neck, still not letting go of the ladder. “I can show you some of my books...” He paused. “If you like that sort of thing,” he added.

“I love books,” Bond said truthfully, though he suspected Q might convince him to love libraries more. He pressed a kiss to Q’s cheek before he stepped back, taking a handkerchief from inside his jacket. He cleaned his hand, giving Q a moment to compose himself, and then said, “Show me to the kitchen.”

As Q stepped past, he caught Bond’s hand, twining their fingers together. “This way,” he said, voice still full of lazy affection. “While you’re cooking, I’ll find something interesting for us to read when we’re done. Perhaps naked and curled up on that divan in one tiny pool of light.”

Bond followed Q out of the library, allowing himself one last glance back, thinking he would have to find the time to discover all the secrets hiding under the facade Q presented at work. “Sounds perfect.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Study [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8992195) by [RsCreighton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton), [SomethingIncorporeal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingIncorporeal/pseuds/SomethingIncorporeal)




End file.
